[
his] visions”, working by night and blasting loud music to
foil authorities. However, by 1992, the local
Carabinieri
found
out. With a magistrate threatening to dynamite the caves
unless he was allowed in, Falcon let them have a peek. What
they saw defied all expectations…
To view the temples, I’m taken by car to the top of a
forested hill, where sits a nondescript villa. Formica unlocks
a door and we’re taken down a white tunnel plastered
with Egyptian hieroglyphic-like ideograms (Damanhur’s
‘
sacred language’). A matchbox-sized lift ferries us 30m
underground, where we enter the first of the Temples’ nine
chambers: the Hall of the Earth. It’s jaw-dropping stuff. The
rotunda-style room is dominated by a wraparound mural
showing forests, volcanoes and savannahs. Pandas climb
trees, whales swim in the sky. Gambolling through this
Edenic scene are joyous, people. But hang on – isn’t that a
wheelbarrowwoman from earlier? And that’s Stambecco…
Surely? Yes, I’m told, most of the commune is painted here.
Suddenly, a stained-glass window open-sesames to reveal
a secret stairwell. We enter the Hall of Metals, dedicated
to the evolution of human life (a bespectacled old man is
depicted as a flying cherub). Deeper into the catacomb we
go, snaking down tunnels and pushing brick walls, Indiana
Jones-style. If there is a time machine here, it’d take an
eternity to find it. After passing through the Labyrinth (a
subterranean multifaith cathedral representing everything
from Christianity to Polynesian deities) and the Hall of
Spheres (a gold-leaf chamber with eight eerily glowing
crystal balls), we wind up in the Hall of Mirrors.
T H E C H A L L E N G E
T U R I N
Underneath a huge cupola dome, the glass reflect our
anatomy from every angle. If that wasn’t discombobulating
enough, Formica hits a gargantuan gong that produces an
ear-perforating din. It sounds like Armageddon, the Book of
Revelations and the Mayan apocalypse all rolled into one.
Frustrated in my attempts to find the commune’s flux
capacitor, I opt for travelling of the astral variety instead,
signing up for meditation – a lifetime debut for me. The ‘inner
harmonising’ session takes place inside the Temples. After
half an hour spent making vowel noises and pretending to
be a seed, it happens… A gigantic sensory kaleidoscope opens
up. We see a wizened, bearded, old man; blazing chariots
scything the night sky; humanity standing on an ocean of
glass… Actually, I see none of these things, acquiring only
a sore bum from sitting. So, when I emerge into the frosty
night, I’m rendered breathless by the Temples’ scale, but
earth-shattering spiritual nourishment? Sadly not.
It’s just like any other
dinner party until
somebody mentions
past lives.
Suddenly, the
room becomes crowded
with former Zulu
chieftains, French barons
and Irish peasants
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